Jay Allen Sanford 9:45 p.m., May 19
Summertime. How I love it. Makes me lazy, slowish, messy.
I talk to strangers, look at the world through drowsy , blowzy eyes. I wear dresses for the ease and the breeze, bright colors for the contrast and sandals for painted toes
today there is a dampness in the air, not too heavy, just right for loose clothing and eating ice cream and cherry pie, for a sandwich of chicken and marinated mozzarella.
Watermelon salads appear in kitchens from Encinitas to the east coast - juleps and mojitos and margueritas slosh in frosty glasses, young girls march around half undressed and the surfy tattoos on the young bucks warm my memories of summers past.
I have a special place in my heart for Chapstick if i forget to bring it with me , I panic for I surely shall die of chapped lips without a way to moisten them. it is odd how everything dries out when it warms up, when the humidity is high and we are dripping with sweat, hair frizzed out or turns to straw, skin flakes and falls shedding like a dog, heels get rough and tough even in flip flops.
But it's kinda sexy you know, kinda hot, kinda fun and free and happy.